Three Unexpected Guests
That evening, my mother stood near the front door, clutching her purse tightly.
“I wish you were coming,” she admitted. “I’m going to feel completely out of place.”
“You won’t be out of place,” I assured her. “Just be yourself.”
She kissed my forehead and promised to call after dinner.
As I watched her leave, uneasiness settled over me.
I knew exactly what Clarissa was like around food.
For more than a year, she and her two sisters, Beatrice and Evelyn, had appeared at nearly every meal my fiancé and I hosted.
They came to Thanksgiving without bringing so much as a dinner roll.
They showed up at Christmas with empty hands and enormous appetites.
At summer barbecues, they filled their plates several times, then packed leftovers before the rest of the guests had finished eating.
Whenever I mentioned it to my fiancé, he dismissed it.
“That’s just Mom,” he would say. “She can be a little much, but she doesn’t mean anything by it.”
So I continued cooking.
I continued smiling.
I continued pretending not to notice.
